Fuck yeah, romanticism

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caeruleangypsy:

Caravaggio

(via folds-deactivated20121021)

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John Keats: On The Grasshopper and Cricket

john-keats:

The poetry of earth is never dead:
When all the birds are faint with the hot sun,
And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run
From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead;
That is the Grasshopper’s - he takes the lead
In summer luxury, - he has never done
With his delights; for when tired out…

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John Keats: The Eve of St. Agnes

john-keats:

I

St. Agnes’ Eve - Ah, bitter chill it was!
The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold;
The hare limp’d trembling through the frozen grass,
And silent was the flock in woolly fold:
Numb were the Beadsman’s fingers, while he told
His rosary, and while his frosted breath,
Like pious…

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liquidnight:

It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of ANNABEL LEE;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea;
But we loved with a love that was more than love-
I and my Annabel Lee;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me-
Yes!- that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we-
Of many far wiser than we-
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride,
In the sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.

— Edgar Allan Poe, “Annabel Lee”

First Communicant, Photographed by W.S. Bradshaw of 103, Newgate Street, London

[Photo from the collection of Beniah Brawn]

(via fuckthereallife)

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“

They lay calm-breathing on the bedded grass;
Their arms embraced, and their pinions too;
Their lips touch’d not, but had not bade adieu,
As if disjoined by soft-handed slumber,
And ready still past kisses to outnumber
At tender eye-dawn of aurorean love:
The winged boy I knew;
But who wast thou, O happy, happy dove?
His Psyche true! ”

—Ode to Psyche, John Keats (via hellosusie)

(Source: wetalkedasgirlsdo)

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therecipe:

Wanderer Above The Sea Of Fog - Casper David Freidrich (German, 1818)

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“

I weep for Adonais-he is dead!
O, weep for Adonais! though our tears
Thaw not the frost which binds so dear a head!
And thou, sad Hour, selected from all years
To mourn our loss, rouse thy obscure compeers,
And teach them thine own sorrow, say: “With me
Died Adonais; till the Future dares
Forget the Past, his fate and fame shall be
An echo and a light unto eternity! ”

—

by Percy Bysshe Shelley
(1803-1822)

From “Adonais”, about the death of fellow romantic

poet and friend John Keates

(via marcelgomes)

(Source: classiclit.about.com, via marcelgomes)

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brainfullofcanvas:

Liberty Leading the People by Eugene Delacroix, 1830 (Romanticism).

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brainfullofcanvas:

The Voyage of Life, Childhood by Thomas Cole, 1842 (Romanticism).

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Un Bar aux Folies: Robert Burns - O Wert Thou in the Cauld Blast

barauxfolies:

Burns Original: O, Wert Thou In The Cauld Blast

1.
O, wert thou in the cauld blast
On yonder lea, on yonder lea,
My plaidie to the angry airt,
I’d shelter thee, I’d shelter thee,
Or did Misfortune’s bitter storms
Around thee blaw, around thee blaw,
Thy bield should be my bosom,
To…

Fuck yeah, romanticism

John Keats: On The Grasshopper and Cricket

John Keats: The Eve of St. Agnes

Un Bar aux Folies: Robert Burns - O Wert Thou in the Cauld Blast

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